Matters of Trust
by Su-Whisterfield
Summary: House of X 4, the mission against Orchis Base on The Forge, yeah, that mission. How come Cyclops doesn't get to deploy Nightcrawler, how come it's Wolverine who gives the order? Oh. Right.


"So, let me see if I've got this right?" I cross my arms. Yeah, I know it's aggressive body language, but I'm feeling pretty aggressive right now. "You have no objection to Marvel Girl, Husk, M, Angel or me being assigned to an important but dangerous job. But you won't let me take Nightcrawler?"  
He growls at me. No really. Growls. Like working with a damn animal.

Let's unpack that.  
He. Won't. _Let._ Me. Like he has any say in the matter.  
Like he can tell me who I choose. I thought long and damn hard over the team which would be best placed to carry out a damned difficult, hellishly dangerous mission, does he think I randomly draw names out of a hat?  
Does he think I'd risk anyone without carefully considering what they bring to it?  
Does he think I'd risk _Jean_?  
Hell, if he'd come down here complaining about including Jean, at least I'd understand it. I wouldn't approve either. But I'd understand.

Nightcrawler. Kurt?  
Kurt's been a sold, stable, reliable team member for us for as long as Logan has. Sure, like Warren, he's a friend, which is always going to make it a bit more difficult, but if you want a job doing properly, he's your man. And it's more than just his ability to 'port, there are teleporters who can cover greater distances, carry more passengers, but it's trust; it's being able to trust him, implicitly, without question to get the job done, right first time. And I can. I do. Good man. Solid. Fearless. Intelligent.

Wolverine is leaning against the wall, his own arms crossed over his broad chest. He's one of the most infuriating, irritating, arrogant, antagonistic... I run out of adjectives. Annoying little shit, just about covers it.  
We glare at each other.  
"Ya' not puttin' him on a suicide mission. Ya' can just fuck off with that idea."  
"But it's fine for me, you? Jean?" Oho, that gets me a grade one glare.  
"Ya' know it's not fine." He looks away. "Won't lose him again."  
Now we're getting to the meat of it. We've never mentioned it, not for years. Too raw. Or one or the other of us was dead. But it's still there, under the surface.  
Kurt died too. He died on a mission I'd sent him on. He'd died, in part, because he wasn't fully briefed. By me.  
He got better. The X-Men are good at that. Resurrection our specialty, including Charles' new, currently untested idea on how to bring people back. Untested. Untried. Theoretical.

But it was a very difficult for Logan. Being without his Jiminy Cricket.  
His conscience.  
His best friend.  
Kurt. His... boy? Fuck buddy? Lover.  
Everyone knows. No one says anything about it.

They're our original odd couple; the nice guy and the homicidal maniac.  
Kurt's a sweetheart, nicest guy I know. Nicest guy anyone knows. The one everybody likes.  
But he's not weak, not gullible or pliable, he's opinionated and passionate and independent. He's also, as far as I can tell, straight.  
And yet.  
You just need to watch them together, the touches, the hand in the middle of the back, on the shoulder. The smiles. The quiet oneness of the pair of them. Just watch them, particularly when they've been around each other for a while. Wolverine is prone to disappearing on his own for weeks or months at a time. But when he's about, they gravitate towards each other, more and more of their downtime spent together. They turn up together for training, go down to Harry's together. It's like one of those puzzles, once you see it, you can't un-see it.  
What does it matter? There's been plenty of relationships on the teams over the years. But it does matter.  
In part because it's Kurt.  
The urge to protect runs deep.  
But no one else seems to have a problem, not Charles, or Ororo or Peter. And, trust me, if Peter had a problem with it, I'd know. He's the second nicest person we've got, he's very protective of Kurt. But not from Logan. Maybe I'm just paranoid?

Those soft, gentle gold eyes looked at me all the time I was talking, outlining our plan, explaining what I needed from him, telling him how dangerous it was. Intelligent. Calm. He asked several sharp questions. Then nodded. "_Ja_, Scott. I understand. Of course." Reliable. Solid. A good friend. Not someone I would put at risk lightly. But the chance of us all of us coming out of this alive went up with his quiet assent.

Why the hell does Wolverine think I'd be reckless with who I choose?  
Bastard.

Fuckin' fucker.  
I know it's fuckin' stupid. But. Kurt. My Elf.  
My lad.  
Damn the man. Bad enough Jeannie, but, hell, she's the next thing to a goddamn' goddess. Elf is just...

When I get up to his habitat, he's already there. Standing, in the evening gloom, looking at the spectacular view.  
I walk up behind him and put my arms about him. Precious, precious beyond gold and rubies.  
He doesn't say anything, just brings his hands up to cover mine.  
We don't need words. No need for explanation, discussion or excuses. We both know what this mission might bring. But for now, we have each other and it's enough.

He leans into my strength, then turns in my embrace, bows his head and I draw my own strength from those soft, sweet lips.  
He undresses me with familiar hands, he's only wearing a sarong, the latest Krakoan fashion, and easy to unwrap. I approve. He presses his strongly muscled, softly furred body against me, familiar, comforting, my safe place. I inhale him, ah, my beautiful boy, running my hands over the strong planes of muscle.  
My cock rises. I want him. I need him.

I sit on the sofa and he's before me. Like a sinner on his knees. He looks into my face, leans his cheek against my thigh, I tangle my fingers in his curls.  
So soft. So gentle. But not weak. Strong.  
He turns his head and nuzzles against my cock, kisses it, breathes in my scent.

The purple flowers are an effective lube. What kind of island grows it's own lube? Don't answer that, I don't wanna to know. He rubs the petals over my cock, I groan, man, that feels so good, he pushes back my foreskin, more lube. I run my hands across his shoulders and he rises and stands before me, unashamed of his nudity, of his beauty, an unearthly creature, the lights of the island behind him, his glowing eyes on my face.

How could anyone put this precious, unique, fragile body in danger? Not super-strong, not super-fast or invulnerable. No telekinetic force field. No healing factor. But having him with us could mean the difference between us completing the mission of failing and they're so very sure that it has to succeed. For all our sakes. For all those kids down there. I can't ask him _not_ to go with us.

He lowers himself onto me, Oh so slowly, gasps at the sensation, he's already prepped, he knew I would be here, he knew what we'd want to do, need to do. He's still tight though, I hold still as he adjusts himself, his arms around my neck, head bowed. Those smooth muscles ripple in his thighs and across his flat belly as he raises himself, lowers, bites his lip, I run my hands over the blue velvet fur.  
"My beautiful, precious lad. So beautiful. So fuckin' lovely. Just look at you. Ah, you're so, so pretty." I keep up a stream of words as I caress him. Words I'd never dare say by daylight. Words that belong only to this magical twilight, intimate, personal, private words. It's a fuckin' privilege to be allowed to touch him, to talk to him like that. He's not the sinner here.  
His cock rises between us and I start to thrust up into the intense, tight heat of him.  
His tail coils around my thigh, almost with desperation, my hands caress him, gently milk his cock, he comes with a little sob, his head buried in my neck.  
I move us so were lying on the sofa and fuck him long and hard, when I come, deep inside, it's a reaffirmation, a promise. Nothing will separate us again.

We're discussing worse case scenarios as the jet closes the distance between Luna and The Forge, _sotto voce_, no need to worry people.  
"If the worse comes to the worse, he can 'port me out there to cut one of 'em." Logan glares at the black shape growing larger on the monitor.  
"Could he get back in fast enough not to end up fried too?" Kurt is phenomenally fast, but that close to as star? It's the solar radiation, as well as the heat.  
He looks at me. Wrong question, it's not could he, it's would he.  
"Gotta' tell you, Slim, next time we go, we're goin' together."  
Being apart is no longer an option, for either of them. I nod.  
There's a laugh from behind us, Kurt has given up trying to charm Monet, he's having more success with Warren and Paige.

When we approach the station, it's not me that gives the order to deploy.  
"We're almost there. Send him in."  
"Hey, Kurt. Recon."  
He's not mine to deploy.


End file.
